


The Sword of Judith

by Highsmith (quimtessence)



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Queer Relationship, Clothed Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, Hand Jobs, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Married Sex, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Canon, Romance, Samos - Freeform, So Much Kissing the Author Almost Exploded, Summer, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25998487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/pseuds/Highsmith
Summary: They cover themselves with the rich, blooming darkness of midnight as they escape into the streets of Samos. They could head towards the wharf, away from the tourists gathered in restaurants and terraces with their umbrella drinks and sweaty bodies and neon lights lighting their faces into macabre caricatures in rainbow colours, but his lips touch Yusuf's ear, begging for a nice bed, for skin on skin between clean sheets, and Yusuf noses at his cheek, promising so much more.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 35
Kudos: 364





	The Sword of Judith

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not saying I worked a summer job on the island of Samos in 2007 or that this is based in any part on that experience. Then again, I can't say that I _haven't_ and that it's _not_. XD What I can say is that it was inspired by [this](https://harrynightingales.tumblr.com/post/626873123470508032/tovezza-actually-i-wrote-these-as-the-tags-to) post, only I couldn't make it angsty in the least, not when the alternative was Married Sex, yo!

They cover themselves with the rich, blooming darkness of midnight as they escape into the streets of Samos. They could head towards the wharf, away from the tourists gathered in restaurants and terraces with their umbrella drinks and sweaty bodies and neon lights lighting their faces into macabre caricatures in rainbow colours, but his lips touch Yusuf's ear, begging for a nice bed, for skin on skin between clean sheets, and Yusuf noses at his cheek, promising so much more.

The old man at the reception desk in what was obviously his family home's front parlour before it became a small pension asks for their passports to keep in one of several minuscule cubbyholes on the wall behind him. As always, Yusuf chooses to spend a few minutes more in order to attend to all of the pertinent details, all the personal touches to distract from a more thorough investigation of their papers, even though Nicky catches in his eyes the same longing to finally share in the secrets of their bodies after months on the road. The measure of privacy they require depends on the century, but Yusuf prefers solitude for when they are together, and Nicky prefers whatever Yusuf prefers.

The room is larger than he expected, with two narrow rail beds and a small sink with a shower and a toilet behind a sliding door, but he hardly notices the rest as Yusuf backs him into the bed closest.

The comfort of the shadowed room cocoons them as Yusuf's lips descend on his, his tongue finally in his mouth for more than the length of a taste—Nicky never has the proper words, can only show himself through acts, can only show his need through actions, so he sucks on Yusuf's tongue, the lingering taste of aged wine from dinner a pleasant enough opening salvo, but what he aches for is Yusuf's own taste from nine hundred years ago—sand grains and sweat and ripe figs between cracked lips—and beneath the fading memories of a kiss the real thing, the real Yusuf, earthy and lush and obscene in Nicky's mouth. He's drooling pathetically at the mere thought of it, the kiss turning into a wet mess he can hardly regret when Yusuf moans into his mouth and tips his head forward and to the side for a better angle.

They should probably divest themselves of their clothing, but they end up with unzipped jeans still around their hips, hands between the folds to grasp and tug and stroke. Their legs dangling over the sides of the bed, too narrow by half, leaves little room for leverage, not that Nicky requires much more than this—Yusuf's calloused hand, the palm a little dry but hardly an issue when Nicky's already leaking everywhere, hot for it since they left the safe house, balls drawing up already.

He does bring his own palm up to his face and breaks the kiss to lick at his fingers while Yusuf buries his nose and mouth into the side of his neck to lick and suck and nibble there. Concentrating on what he's doing is proving difficult when Yusuf's hand refuses to lose its rhythm, a loose hold down the shaft and deliciously tight beneath the head, but the worst torment descends when his mouth moves to Nicky's ear to nip at his lobe before sucking it into his mouth, as if Nicky's not already on a trigger, thighs shivering and balls aching. As if he's not close enough he might wail and bring the man at the desk scurrying up the stairs to barge in on them, and maybe half of the neighbourhood, too.

Gentler kisses and measuring out some delicacy has worked for him in the past to push away the inevitable. Nicky turns to catch his lips again, hand grasping Yusuf's cock in the tight hold he likes, wet enough from spit to get a smoother grip, but instead of sipping kisses by the mouthful he ends up tugging on the swell of Yusuf's bottom lip, his mouth already flushed and primed from the kisses they've shared, which brings more blood to the surface, fattening his lip with every tug, Nicky's tongue playing with the flesh and eliciting more moans and grunts and keens, some of them his own.

"Cuore," Yusuf pants into his mouth, though his tongue still touches Nicky's on every other breath. "Lasciami," as if Nicky's the villain here, intent on teasing. As if he's not losing his mind a little.

But he can't last much longer, not with months of shared safe houses and little to no privacy for this. Nothing more than pushing at each other down narrow alleyways for a few moments before Andrée called for them to hurry it up. He pants raggedly, muscles tensing and untensing several times, cock getting a little harder in Yusuf's palm, those last few moments before his balls draw all the way up to spill ruled by clever fingers playing with his foreskin, spreading the wetness around, and then Nicky's done, come streaking Yusuf's hand and Nicky's chest and the space between them.

He's lucky Yusuf's essentially on top of him. He flails around, coming hard enough his head buzzes with it afterwards. He blinks back his sight to watch Yusuf's face, foreheads pressed together, his eyelashes fluttering delicately. He can feel his hips rocking his cock into Nicky's limp hand, staccato thrusts poking his cockhead against Nicky's lower belly. He regains enough of his nimbleness to clench his fist around him and start a rapid rhythm while mouthing at his cheek and chin and the bow of his lips. His other hand squeezes in between them from its spot at Yusuf's waist to pull at his balls and press the pads of two fingers in the space right behind them.

Yusuf tries to utter words, but they barely come out as lonesome vowels as he finally lets go, Nicky stroking him through it, messing them up even more for no other reason than because _he can_. They clean up after at the sink, shoulder to shoulder, and Nicky can't stop smiling, though he can't recall when he even started. They take turns to use the toilet and drink water directly from the faucet. Somewhere, though several walls, a clock chimes. Or perhaps muffled by the street outside.

They do make it unclothed to the bed, piling up on each other, Yusuf allowing him into the cradle of his hips while they sleep, though Nicky spends a long time with his head on his chest, listening to the beating of his heart, thankful for this and so much more.

There's little use for such artifice as tiptoeing back in with the crispness of dawn at their heels, not when Sebastien and Andrée have evidently exhausted their supply of wine and have decided any horizontal surface will prove equally conducive to restfulness.

Nicky brings them espressos and Yusuf has enough groceries from the corner store to make a tub of fruit salad. They breathe in their respective coffees and poke at watermelon and oranges and papaya slices as they wait for the other two to find wakefulness. The counter is a heady distance, an obstacle Nicky wants to jump over to get his fill over and over again, but Yusuf's eyes have the humour and warmth of family within them now, so Nicky lets it die down as he waits for the others.

They have eternity, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> "Cuore." = Heart.
> 
> "Lasciami." = Let me.
> 
> Please let me know if you enjoyed this. Nicky desperate for Joe is my number one kink, I guess. Oh, and heavy kissing/making out. XD
> 
> Comments/kudos appreciated, loves!
> 
> Tumblr: [rhubarbdreams](https://rhubarbdreams.tumblr.com/)


End file.
